


calling out for somebody to hold tonight

by twashoranshewrote



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Baker Harry, Fluff, Harry is a Little Shit, M/M, Neighbors, and niall likes him anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:43:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6454015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twashoranshewrote/pseuds/twashoranshewrote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Harry likes to bake and Niall just likes Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	calling out for somebody to hold tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missingheadache](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingheadache/gifts).



> I wrote this awhile back for Jess, but I'm just getting around to posting it on here. 
> 
> find me on tumblr at nialls-hat (previously twashoranshewrote)

Niall’s not exactly sure how he’s ended up here, standing in the grocery store with two arms full of groceries he doesn’t need, fishing for his wallet at the check out. He supposes it’s become a bad habit, really, the way he finds himself in this exact place week after week. And he knows his cabinets are already full, and really, he doesn’t need two bags of flour and two cartons of eggs but there’s a voice in the back of his mind that’s been nagging him all day. 

And he supposes it started this morning, when he woke up to the sound of Fleetwood Mac’s “Songbird” from the other side of his bedroom wall. And it’s not the first time he’s heard the same gravely voice laced with sleep, performing a rendition of whichever song he’s chosen that day, but it’s been a while and Niall’s forgotten what his voice sounds like this early, when he’s just woken up. Niall imagines that it’s the first thing his neighbor does when he wakes up, switches on some music while he brushes his teeth or gets dressed for the day. He imagines him swinging his hips to whichever beat while he combs out his hair. And Niall thinks he probably spends a lot of time on his hair because it always looks soft to the touch. And Niall would really like to know what it feels like between his fingers, not that he would admit it anyways. 

Or maybe it started last week, when he answered the door in a pair of boxer shorts to find his long-legged, curly-headed neighbor standing at his door with a sheepish grin stretched over his teeth. And he’s seen the guy around the building for the last month, since he’s moved in. It’s been a few glances between doors swinging open or closed, or a smile from across the laundry room. And maybe that’s why Niall’s switched his laundry day from Thursday to Wednesday, though he’s always preferred the former because in the year he’s lived in this building, he’s never had to fight for a washer or dryer. But he thinks he wouldn’t mind it, fighting for one, if it meant he could catch a flash of a dimpled smile or green eyes. But even though he’s seen him a handful of times, he can’t say he was prepared to see him at his door before nine in the morning on a Saturday, his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he asked for a cup of milk, because there’s nothing quite as bad as waking up in the morning and making a cuppa tea before you realize you haven’t any milk. 

And it was when Niall was pouring a cup of almond milk, because he’s become quite taken with the taste of it, that he learned his neighbor’s name. Harry. It’s funny how you can know things about a person, like the way they do their laundry or the way they take their tea, before you learn their name but once you do, it’s like everything makes sense. Because Harry doesn’t look like a Harry but he feels like one. And maybe that doesn’t make much sense but it does, in Niall’s head at least. So he thinks maybe that’s where all of this has started. Because three days after the milk incident as Niall’s so fondly named it, Harry showed up at the door with the same sheepish grin on his face, requesting an egg for a batch of brownies he’d been working on. And the day after, it was chocolate chips for a new cookie recipe he was just dying to check out. 

So Niall’s stood in the aisle, trying to decide which butter he thinks Harry uses, because he’s already picked up everything else he could possibly need for whichever recipe he’s likely to be trying out tonight. And it’s not that Niall is desperate or creepy. He’s just got this complex about not having something the next time Harry comes by. So if he’s gone a bit overboard, that’s really none of anyone’s business. He decides on a pack of four butter sticks because it’s the kind his mum always used when they made Christmas cookies the entire week leading up to his favorite holiday. And with the snow on the ground and his favorite plaid scarf tied around his neck, it seems like second nature when he adds the familiar package to the pile in his arms. He smiles fondly at the memory, so vivid he can practically see the aisle disappear into the image of his childhood kitchen. And he makes a note to call his mum, because it’s been too long since he’s heard her voice and it’s a shame really that he can’t go home for Christmas this year. 

But he doesn’t think on it too hard when he checks out with the groceries he doesn’t need and carries them in bags up the two flights of stairs to the second floor. He’s barely got them put away when there’s a knock on his door. And it’s just on time, because Harry normally does his baking after dinner when he’s finished with his evening class. And he’s so keen to remind Niall of this every time he asks. Because Niall’s got a sharp memory but he can’t seem to remember that Harry has Recent American Literature every Monday and Wednesday evening or that he has Intro to Organic Chemistry on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So when he opens the door to find Harry with a handful of ingredients in one arm and a thick textbook in the other, he has to ask, “What are we studying tonight?” as if they are a we at all. 

“I spilled a bit of batter into the bottom of my stove last night and I’m scared to turn it back on if I’m honest. Thought maybe I could use yours and you could quiz me for my exam tomorrow?” And it’s the timid expression on Harry’s face that makes Niall forget about the homework he has himself. His cheeks are tinged pink and his lips look like they’ve been between his teeth all night. Maths can wait until tomorrow. 

“That depends, what are you making tonight?” Niall steps aside and takes some of the food from his neighbor’s arms like he’s done it his whole life. It’s so easy, the way Harry fits into his kitchen and works around it like he’s an extension of it. And Niall really doesn’t like the way his stomach feels warm and the way that warmth spreads clear up his neck to his cheeks. He’s always been the type to flush easily, but Harry seems to coax it out of him more than the average person. More than the average lad. Niall’s known for a few years now, that he likes guys. It didn’t come as too much of a shock when he got a bit out of his mind and fooled around with a guy from home. He’s never been too much into girls anyways, and the idea of kissing guys wasn’t nearly as repulsive to him as it was his friends. It wasn’t some big moment, with fireworks and confetti, when he came out to his parents. It was more or less one of those moments where everyone just says, “right”, and goes about their business. 

So it should come at no surprise when his cheeks burn and he finds himself staring at Harry’s bum a little too long. His eyes drift over the planes of his back and the way his t-shirt rides up every time he reaches over Niall to grab something from the counter. It should feel weird, having him in a place he’s used to being alone in. Where Niall normally sits to drink his morning tea, because he’s never quite acquired the taste for coffee, Harry is spreading out an array of his baking supplies. And Niall thinks that maybe he should stop staring, because at some point Harry’s bound to notice. And maybe a part of him wants Harry to catch him, but the other part of him isn’t even sure he’s interested in the parts that Niall’s got that girls don’t. 

“So where’d you learn all this anyways?” he asks, swirling his cuppa with his spoon, watching the way the milk mixes in with the tea the longer he stirs it with shaky hands. 

“Worked in a bakery when I was sixteen. I was never very good at anything but my mum taught me most of what I know,” Harry replies from where he’s stood near the stove, his hands buried deep in a bowl of cookie batter. 

“Mumma’s boy then, are you?” Niall can’t help but ask once he sees the fond smile on the curly headed boy’s lips. 

“The biggest,” Harry says. And it’s quiet for a while. Niall’s got a vinyl playing in the corner of the room, Coldplay. It’s one he got from his gran for his birthday back in September. And Harry makes these adorable little huffing sounds when he’s baking. 

“So this exam tomorrow,” Niall says, paging through the textbook on his counter. It’s a Lit book, which reminds him that it’s Tuesday and Harry has his literature class tomorrow. 

“I’ve already studied. I figured you’d be more likely to let me use your stove if I was being all studious,” Harry throws a cheeky grin over his shoulder, his eyes bright and his lips dark from him running his teeth over them. And if Niall feels his heartbeat speed up, well that’s none of anyone’s business. 

“Sneaky bugger,” he huffs, though he can’t fight the smile that follows. 

“Wanna give me a hand with these? Just gotta pour them out into these cups,” Harry says, but Niall’s too distracted by how cute he looks with an apron on. He’s distracted by how bright his green eyes look underneath the warm light in his kitchen and the way the muscles in his back move underneath his grey t shirt. Niall can see the way his shirt stretches over his shoulders and falls loosely around his hips. He’s distracted by how tight his jeans are over his lean legs, the legs that seem to stretch into eternity. And it’s like all of his height is held in his long, long legs. So when Harry turns to find Niall already staring at him, Niall realizes he hasn’t answered the question. His cheeks burn and he coughs into his arm to try and hide the way his throat has gone dry. 

“Yeah, sure,” he coughs out. 

If Harry is put off by the way Niall’s looking at him, well he doesn’t show any indication. In fact, his grin seems to grow wider and his eyes seem to shine brighter when Niall washes his hands in the sink and bumps his hip against the brunette’s. “So just pour this into the cups?” he asks, his hands cupping the bowl of liquid brownie batter on the counter. And Niall’s confused, because he’s never baked brownies in a cupcake tin. But Harry nods him on, and Niall doesn’t have the heart to tell him that this pan is made for cupcakes and not brownies, because Harry is the baker and Niall is just a guest in his own kitchen until Harry’s finished. Plus, he still looks too damn cute in his apron. 

“So what’s that for then?” Niall tips his head towards the second bowl on the counter that has cookie dough in it. 

“Well I can’t give away all my secrets,” Harry says coyly. And Niall would like to think it’s no coincidence when Harry’s arm brushes against his while he’s pouring the batter. The glass bowl nearly slips from his hands when gooseflesh rises on his arms. And even with the sleeves of his jumper covering it, he thinks Harry might be able to tell how nervous he is because his hand moves to Niall’s shoulder when he reaches around him for the bag of dark chocolate chips. 

“Tell me something,” Harry says suddenly, when Niall is just becoming used to the comfortable silence between them. He’s sat on a stool at the counter now, just watching Harry work with the cookie batter. 

“Like what?” Niall asks, sneaking a bite of cookie dough while Harry fiddles with his phone. 

“Anything. Just wanna know stuff ‘bout you,” Harry says, like he’s telling Niall his tea order or telling him what he had for lunch this afternoon. It’s casual. But for Niall, it feels like the world may have actually stopped turning for a split second, and that’s probably the hopeless romantic in him. Because the rational side of him knows that people are curious, and that’s probably what Harry is. Curious. Curious about people, and Niall is a person that he’s curious about. 

Niall makes an odd sound, like the kind he made when Troy McDermott kicked him in his family jewels in sixth form. But this time it’s not from taking one to the bollocks. It’s because he’s not even sure where to start. His life isn’t interesting in the slightest. In fact, the most interesting thing in his life at the moment is whether or not he’s going to pass his exams next week. And he hasn’t got an option really, because he’s supposed to graduate in the spring and he’s counting on these credits. But when Harry looks at him, so impatient for an answer, anything, he just settles for, “I’m from Ireland.” 

“Picked that up from your accent. Republic or Northern?” 

“I’m from Mullingar, About an hour west of Dublin,” Niall says. 

“So your name is Niall and you’re from Ireland. But I want to know something that nobody else knows about you.” Harry’s looking at Niall so earnestly that he almost wants to spill all of his secrets right there, because sometimes a person walks into your life and you don’t know them but you want to. You want to so badly that you think you might explode if you don’t learn every little thing about them. And Niall wants to know Harry. He wants Harry to know him. He wants Harry to learn the nuances in his speech and the inner workings of his mind until there’s nothing left to explore of Niall’s mind and body and by the time Harry’s got nothing left to explore, they will be old and Harry won’t mind that the mystery is solved because by then, it will have stopped being about the mystery of it all and will have grown into something more. The roadmap to Niall’s soul will just be an intricate part of the bigger picture. And by then, maybe Niall won’t just be Niall, but maybe he’ll be a part of Harry&Niall and that’s a pretty beautiful and terrifying thought to be having about someone that you’ve had about two proper conversations with. But Niall wants it. And he wants it badly, probably more so than he’s willing to admit. 

So divulging a tidbit of information to Harry in the hopes of something more doesn’t seem like the worst idea Niall’s ever had. And in the way of things that he holds in the back of his mind or the shadows of his heart, there’s one thing in particular that stands out. It’s the one thing that finds its way back to the forefront of Niall’s mind every now and again. He always manages to shove it back into a metaphorical box in the metaphorical closet of his mind, to be re-opened another day. And maybe today just so happens to be the day he’s willing to re-open the box, because if there’s anyone that’s deserving of the contents of the box, it’s Harry. It’s Harry with his tranquil green eyes and his dimpled smile and curly hair. And Niall doesn’t know Harry, but giving him this little bit of himself is a small price to pay for the opportunity to know Harry like he wants to, like he craves to. 

“I, uh, I’m only telling you this in the hopes that you won’t run out of this flat the moment I tell you,” he starts, prefacing what he’s about to say. Because Niall knows it’s heavy, the thing that’s been weighing on his chest for a few years now. 

“I won’t run. I swear it,” Harry promises with a smile so different than all of the other ‘Harry Smiles’. This is a small one, where only his two largest teeth peek out from his pink lips. He holds out his pinky and wraps it around Niall’s, lingering there for a moment before letting his hand drop back to the countertop. 

“Okay, uh,” Niall coughs, his face already red from a mixture of shame and anxiety. And he knows why he’s telling Harry one of his deepest ‘secrets’, for the lack of a better word, but it doesn’t make it easier. He’s lived with it for the last four years of his life and sharing it with someone else won’t make it easier to live with in the future. It’s just another person who can summon the memory of it any moment, as if he needs a second brain to do that for him. His brain already works hard enough to make him remember the mistakes he made when he was younger. And part of him scolds himself for referring to it as a mistake, because it’s been a contributing factor to who he is as a twenty two year old, but his eighteen year old self wasn’t thinking that far into the future when he made those decisions. He wasn’t thinking past his fourth pint of beer, really. “I cheated on my last girlfriend for two months before I left for uni and broke up with her,” he says all in one breath. And it sounds even worse when he says it out loud than it does when it’s just in his head. 

Neither of them says anything for a few minutes. Coldplay is still playing in the corner of the room, but Niall knows even that will run silent soon. It’s on the last track and he knows the album well enough that he thinks he could sing every song in order in his sleep. Niall chews on his nails until Harry looks up from the counter and Niall is met with his eyes. His kind green eyes that haven’t changed even with the new information. But Niall knows that it’ll be impossible for Harry not to see Niall differently after this. And Niall also knows that it’ll be impossible to run from it any longer because it’s out in the open now. It’s been spoken into the universe and now lives in a place outside Niall’s mind where the wind could catch it at any moment and carry it away. 

“Do you regret it?” Harry asks, catching Niall off guard. 

Does Niall regret it? No, not truly. He can call it a mistake and he can be sorry for hurting a girl he once cared deeply for, but he can’t be dishonest with himself and say he regrets it. Because regretting it won’t take it back and regretting it will mean regretting the road to his self-discovery and the road to where he is now. He’s inclined to say that if it never happened at all, he might not be in this very kitchen with his very beautiful neighbor with very pretty eyes staring so intently at him. 

“Can’t say I do. It’d be like saying I regret finding a piece of myself,” he says, pausing to collect his thoughts before he explains it. Because coming out to your parents who have been expecting it for years is so different compered to coming out to someone you’ve just met. Especially when it’s someone that might not even fancy men himself, or hate men who fancy men. Because even though it’s the twenty first century, not everyone has moved past the idea of traditional marriage and homophobia. “It was with a friend of a friend and it was after graduation when we all got a bit out of our minds at a party. Amy wasn’t there and I had a few too many. This guy Stephen was there.” 

Niall can’t help but notice the way Harry’s expression changes when he mentions it being a guy that he cheated with. It’s an expression he can’t quite read, but it’s not bad. Harry isn’t so repulsed that he’s taking his halfway baked goods and storming out of the place. Instead, it’s like his eyes grow even softer and his posture changes completely. His broad shoulders relax and his whole body nearly melts into the line of the counter. “I had seen the lad around a few times, but didn’t know him well. I don’t even remember how we ended up outside but I was pissed and he started kissing me and I didn’t stop him. It was never more than a few good snogs every time we saw each other around but I felt terrible about it. How do you tell a girl you’ve been seeing for a year that the reason you won’t sleep with her is because you might not be interested in women like that? Anyways, she never found out and I think she’s engaged now.” 

Harry almost looks sad for Niall, like he can feel the turmoil in Niall’s chest. It’s the same turmoil that kicks up like a tornado every time something remind him of Amy or Stephen. “What happened to you and that lad?” Harry asks. 

“I think we both knew that it wasn’t real, any of it. I was figuring out who I was and he was helping me and it never went further than that.” Niall shrugs, looking anywhere but Harry. He doesn’t want to see the pity in his eyes or watch as he takes his things to leave. But the longer Niall stands there with his head resting on his arms folded on the counter, the more unsettling the silence becomes. He doesn’t hear Harry shuffling around the kitchen to gather his things. He doesn’t hear him huffing or muttering to himself about how Niall’s pathetic or wrong for what he did. And Niall’s a bit thankful for it, because he’s spent enough time beating himself up for it. 

“I think,” Harry begins slowly, like he’s choosing his words very carefully. And in the time Niall’s listened to Harry speak in his slow, deep, voice, he’s never noticed how Harry is mindful of the words he uses. It’s like there’s never a word out of place. And maybe it has more to do with the idea that Niall’s got in his mind of who Harry is but he thinks it’s remarkable, the way he’s able to organize his thoughts without filtering them in the process. “I think that if your experience helped you become secure with who you are, then it isn’t a wasted experience or one you should regret. And if this Amy girl ever did find out, I’m sure she would be able to put herself in your shoes and recognize that just because you weren’t interested in her in the way she wanted you to be, you still cared very deeply for her. In fact, you cared deeply enough for her to pretend to be something you’re not for two months in order to spare her feelings. Because you’re right, there would have been no easy way to let her down easy and come out all at the same time.” 

Niall is stunned. He’s stunned at how Harry isn’t passing judgment, because Niall knows that he might not be so open minded if this conversation were reversed. He’d like to think he would be, but he’s also a bit cynical when it comes to love and all things related so he can’t predict how he would react if it were reversed. He’s pleasantly surprised at how easy it was, to come out to Harry. He’s been open about his sexuality since he moved away for school, but it’s never been so easy before. Maybe it’s just Harry. Maybe it’s just because of the person Harry is that Niall feels at ease around him while simultaneously wired. He’s filled with adrenaline but it’s not the kind he experiences before he’s about to have a panic attack. Though, he’s almost forgotten what they feel like in the years he hasn’t gotten any. It’s the type of adrenaline he feels when he walks into an exam fully prepared, like he knows he’s going to ace it. 

So he blames the adrenaline when he gets the confidence to say, “Now it’s your turn, to tell me somethin’”. 

“Something nobody else knows?” Harry asks, only to earn a nod in response. “Well, uh.” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve got this thing, about blonde Irishmen, and they’re even hotter when they come with closeted guilt and an ex-girlfriend as baggage.” 

The joke passes over Niall’s head for a moment of uncomfortable silence, but when it lands square on his forehead, he nearly chokes on his own spit. But there’s a smile on Harry’s lips and it even looks like the slightest tinge of pink washes over his cheeks. And really. Niall’s just happy that he’s the one to put it there. 

x

Niall hates texting. Always has, and probably always will. So when Harry texts him at eleven on the eve of Christmas, Niall has to roll his eyes. They’ve been going back and forth like this for the past few days that Harry’s been home to visit his family for the holiday. It always seems to start the same, with one of the boys seeing something in a store and immediately thinking of the other. And if it’s not that, then it’s a new recipe Harry wants to try or a new study method Niall thinks would really work for Harry. But either way, they’re thinking of one another, and it’s constant. Niall can see Harry’s eyes on the back of his eyelids when he lies in bed just begging for sleep. And Niall thinks it’s funny how he can miss someone when he’s just barely getting to know him. He’s not even sure where “home” is for Harry. He just knows that it doesn’t take anything other than a train and short car ride to get him there. He knows the way Harry takes his tea and knows that Harry is grumpy when he gets tired at night, but he doesn’t know about whether or not he has any siblings or what his parents are like. 

So when Harry texts Niall a photo of the full spread of dinner on his table with the caption, wish you were here x H, Niall sulks a bit. He likes Harry. He likes Harry a whole lot, and he doesn’t think it’s arrogant to think that Harry likes him right back. But Niall still sulks, because he still doesn’t know the things about Harry that he wants to. And he sulks because Harry is home, wherever home is, with whatever family he’s got and Niall is alone in his flat with a tabletop Christmas tree because he can’t carry a real one up two flights of stairs on his own. Niall’s mum called earlier, even learned how to use Skype so he could watch his family eat dinner and pretend he was right there with them. 

Instead of texting Harry back, he lets the message sit for a while until he sees that Harry’s typing a new one. And he decides to call instead, because it’s nearly midnight and he would very much like to be the first one to wish Harry a happy Christmas. Harry answers on the second ring, his voice far more alert than Niall’s. The clock turns to twelve at the exact moment Niall hears his voice, so he can’t be blamed for how excited he is when he yells “Happy Christmas” into the phone. But Harry laughs anyways, and he wishes him a happy Christmas right back, and it’s nice. Talking with Harry on the phone is nice because he can’t see Niall blushing and stuttering over his words. He can just hear him and fill in the blanks himself. Niall lets himself ask about the things he’s curious about, and even learns a thing or two extra. It turns out that Harry’s got divorced parents, a step dad whom he loves very much, and an older sister that means more to him than the world, he reckons. 

And Niall tells Harry about his family, his divorced parents and older brother. He tells him about little Theo, who’s nearly three now. It’s odd, almost, how much they have in common. Niall stays on the phone long after he’s crawled in bed, and even when his eyelids are fighting for rest. He stays on the phone until he hears Harry’s breath shallow out into a steady pattern. They both stopped talking minutes ago, too tired to continue a conversation. But Harry insisted on waiting to hang up until one of them fell asleep. Niall should have known that it would be Harry to drift off first. But he smiles fondly anyways, and hangs up once he hears soft snores on the other end of the line. Before he falls into the depths of sleep as well, he sends Harry a quick text for him to wake up to. I’d trade hours of sleep for just a minute with you. 

 

x

 

Harry’s been back for three days, and Niall knows this because he’s been woken up three mornings in a row by the sound of his voice. And Niall hasn’t received any texts in the last three days, since the one about New Year’s. If you celebrate it at midnight in one time zone and then drive into another time zone, do you get to have two New Year’s kisses or is the second one a normal kiss? x H

And Niall laughed when he opened the message, even though he hates texting. But he thinks that he might not hate texting Harry, because at least he gets to talk to him at all. He likes how he can’t see Harry’s smile but he imagines he’s smiling anyways. And he can’t help but smile too, because Harry’s smile is truly something special. And Niall feels honored to even get his smile in the first place. He thinks he might be in way over his head because he’s quite smitten with the boy with the dimpled smile and green eyes. 

But he hasn’t seen him since before Christmas and he hasn’t spoken with him in three days, so maybe it’s all in Niall’s head. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s made this mistake, getting in too deep with a mate. This morning, Harry's decided on "Yellow Submarine" by The Beatles, and his voice really isn't the type of voice for the song but Niall smiles anyways. He rolls his eyes and stretches his legs out. He feels the familiar twinge of pain in his knee that persists despite the years of physical therapy. 

He shouldn't be surprised when there's a knock on his door, but he is anyways when he opens it to find Harry with wet hair and sleepy eyes. "You know it's seven thirty in the mornin' right?" Niall's voice is laced with sleep, his accent thicker. 

"I, uh, I was making some waffles but I ran out of flour. Don't suppose I could bother you for some?" He grins and it's like nothing has changed. It's like the first day all over again, except Niall knows things about Harry now. And Harry knows things about Niall. 

Niall has two bags of flour, because of his bad habit. But he thinks it might be more than that. He thinks it might be Harry that's become his bad habit, because Niall can't stop thinking about him. He hasn't stopped thinking about him since that first day, the morning where Harry just needed a bit of milk and he happened to knock on Niall’s doors instead of the couple across the hall's. 

"Yeah, I've got some. Come on in." Niall smiles, because how can he not when Harry's looking at him all fond and sleepy? His cheeks are pink and not for the first time, Niall wants to make them even more pink. But he doesn't. Instead, he settles for handing Harry his already opened bag of flour. But neither of them move or speak to one another. They just sort of stand there, looking at each other with funny expressions on their faces. 

And Niall still doesn't know Harry as well as he would like to but he blames the soft smile on Harry's lips when he leans forward to plant the quickest kiss on them. Harry's eyes aren't even closed when it happens and his teeth sort of knock against Niall's but his grin just stretches wider. "What did I do to deserve that?" He asks. 

"Do you want to go on a date with me?" Niall isn't sure whether it's the look of pure happiness on Harry's face that gives him the courage to ask, but he does. And Harry doesn't actually answer. He just cups Niall's jaw and gives him a proper kiss, the kind that makes Niall's toes curl and his chest flush and his breath go all wonky. His fingers grasp the fabric of Harry's t shirt and Harry's find the bare skin on Niall's hips, right above the waistband of his joggers. 

"I'd love to go on a date with you," Harry says once they finally come up for air. 

And when Harry pulls him in for another kiss, the flour is forgotten on the counter and he just really doesn’t understand why he hasn’t done this sooner. Why he didn’t just go to Harry the day he got back and kiss him like this, because it’s really quite wonderful. When their lips are swollen and their cheeks are pink, Harry pulls back with the biggest smile Niall’s ever seen. 

“You’re really cute,” Harry starts. “But I really do want those waffles.” 

“Do I get any?” 

“That depends, what do I get in return?” 

“I can give you some more of this.” Niall pulls Harry closer and presses his lips to his once more. And it isn’t until Harry’s stomach rumbles that they break apart again. He leaves a kiss on the tip of Niall’s nose when he shows him to the door, promising to stop by after he’s showered. And he’s making good on that promise when he knocks on Harry’s door less than an hour later, his hair wet and his skin clean. He knocks once, twice, three times before Harry answers, a cloud of smoke following him. 

“Before you ask, I assure you I have the situation under control.” He’s got a cracked egg down the front of his shirt and flour in his hair and it reeks of smoke, but his smile is still the same. It’s the same smile that knocks Niall off his feet and causes the warmth in his stomach to spread. He’s still standing in the doorway, completely smitten with the boy in front of him, when he spots his bag of flour on Harry’s kitchen counter, right next to an unopened bag. 

“Harry, did you already have flour?”


End file.
